Depths and Determinations
by starry19
Summary: 6x19 Tag - "Lisbon's words - 'he makes a point of always being there for me'. She might as well have said the rest of it out loud, too - 'you aren't.'"
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Whoa. This first part is definitely a tag with a little bit of the promo for 6x20 thrown in for good measure. I accidentally made this a multiparter, so the next chapter will be a _lot_ of the promo for next episode. Because, well, come on!

This show is murdering me in the best way possible.

**Depths and Determinations**

She was leaving him.

And he was...what? Letting her go? Standing aside while a man she claimed made her happy took her halfway across the country?

Letting her lie to both herself and to him?

She wanted him to be upset, wanted to hurt him with her words, wanted him to do _something_.

But he didn't. He couldn't.

So he watched her walk away with Pike's arm around her. Apparently, he should get used to it.

Until he didn't even get to see her anymore.

This was a nightmare.

For a second, a bright shining second, he thought she was telling him that Pike was leaving. He would have feigned sorrow for her. Well, perhaps it wouldn't have been all fake. He didn't want her to be sad, to be in pain. Never that. However, above all else, he would have been happy that Marcus Goddamn Pike was out of their lives and things could go back to the way they were supposed to be.

And then she'd added on that he'd asked her to go with him.

He'd wanted to scream. Actually scream. To give a voice to the pain that had crashed through him like unexpected lightning, powerful and sharp and utterly uncaring about the cage of flesh and emotions that it wrecked.

He wondered if he was actually going to be sick.

Defeated, disoriented, he'd made it back to the Airstream, had navigated the streets of Austin until he was safe in the FBI parking lot again.

He tried to make tea, but his hands were shaking too badly.

Instead, he'd grabbed a beer from the full six-pack he'd gotten with some vague idea of having something for Lisbon to drink when she would inevitably come see him.

Of course, she hadn't.

Two healthy swigs later and he wasn't worried that his trembling fingers would slosh the alcohol out of the bottle as he held it.

He stared at the label. The big-horned sheep looked balefully back at him. Clearly, it would be of no help to him. He took another drink.

There had clearly been something on her mind; he'd known that for a days. He'd figured it wasn't life changing or she would have shared. After all, he was still her best friend. Or at least, he thought he was supposed to be.

Clearly, she had other ideas.

He sat the bottle down with a dull clink, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands on his face. He hadn't bothered to turn the lights on.

How had they gotten to this point? Life was supposed to be easy now.

His beer was gone. He opened another one. It didn't matter - Lisbon wasn't going to be around to drink them anyway.

Suddenly, getting spectacularly drunk seemed like an excellent idea. After all, he reasoned, it had been a shitty day with a shitty case. A shitty few days, actually. Having someone basically die in his arms, knowing she was going to, it haunted him. As soon as he'd touched her, he knew she wouldn't last. And so he'd tried to hypnotize her, tried to take away her pain. She deserved it, deserved some reprieve in her last moments.

He didn't think it had worked.

One more regret.

A third beer came and went.

He didn't drink often, and he was starting to feel it.

Lisbon's words - _he makes a point of always being there for me._

She might as well have said the rest of it out loud, too - _you aren't_.

The hell of it was, he couldn't argue with it. No, he wasn't there for her. He had the damning habit of leaving her by herself, usually when she needed him. When he had brought the whole world down around them in California, she had needed him. Instead, he'd left her on the roadside. When everything had shattered, he had been thousands of miles away, leaving her to sift through the wreckage of her life all alone.

If she'd ever needed him before, she did then.

And she didn't have him.

He had wondered about what that time was like for her. About the nights she had just gone home and cried. He should have been there. She could have put her head on his shoulder and let the tears come. He would have held her for as long as she needed it, hands in her hair, tracing patterns down her back, letting her know that no matter what happened, they could face it together.

But she had dealt with it by herself. One more burden her narrow shoulders had supported.

Marcus Pike would never let her deal with anything alone. He'd probably move heaven and earth to be with her. Would have rather been arrested then let her feel abandoned.

He ignored the part of his brain that told him if he stayed, he would probably be on death row. He had purposely set out to kill a man, and had succeeded. Special circumstances 101. Hello, lethal injection.

Then Lisbon really _would_ have been alone.

Before he could start wondering whether or not she would have come to his execution, he opened another beer.

_Nothing's Finer than a Shiner_, the package read. He wanted to flip it the bird. Stupid goddamn sheep mountain goat thing logo.

He took a deep breath. Getting irrationally angry at cartoons wasn't going to improve his situation.

Was he really going to be that guy, the one that let the woman he loved just wander off into the sunset with someone _not_ him?

Hell no.

Lisbon was torn, clearly. She didn't know what to do. He knew she loved him. But he also knew that he could only expect her to wait for so long. Why the hell had she suddenly decided his time was up? She'd waited for twelve years - why did she have to give up on him now?

He was an idiot. He shouldn't expect her to just...put her life on hold. And she had warned him, had told him she wasn't going to.

She hadn't been bluffing.

He hadn't realized until now how much he'd counted on her being there.

And he had no right to do that, none whatsoever.

That didn't mean he should give up.

No.

He stood up, imbued with sudden purpose. He wasn't going to let her go. He was doing to drop this ridiculous false happiness that he was sure she saw through, and he was going to tell her how he felt.

His hand was on the door before he remembered she wasn't home. She was with Pike. Underneath him, probably, and he stewed in his misery for another moment, and he allowed himself perhaps thirty seconds to think about it.

Then he forcefully blocked it out.

Tomorrow.

He would do this tomorrow.

In the meantime, he was going to finish these damn beers.

He fell asleep an hour later, the world spinning slightly, arms wrapped around a pillow that he desperately tried to pretend was Lisbon. His eyes closed, and he wondered what he wouldn't give for her to be there, to bury his face in the curve of her neck. Nothing, he decided. There was nothing he wouldn't give. He didn't have much, didn't have anything really, but he would have given it all for her.

In that moment, he wanted to be held so badly he almost choked.

But no one was there. No one had been there for twelve years.

His arms tightened around his pillow, and he held on like his life depended on it.

He woke up around five am, his mouth tasting like yesterday's news, a steady, throbbing ache in his temples.

His hands were still shaking at he put the kettle on, then fished through cupboards until he found the aspirin. He revived a bit over his tea, felt well enough to make eggs.

The shower was hot and he shivered as he stepped into the spray.

A strange sense of peace had settled over him.

The solution to his problem was obvious. He would ask her not to go. Lisbon never told him no. Besides, it was time to tell her how he felt.

Pike was leaving, and he wanted her to know that he would be waiting for her when she decided she was ready.

He didn't care how long it took. He would be there.

He would do whatever it took to prove that to her. Hell, he'd buy a house next to her, would call her five times a day, would take her out for dinner every night.

Would get on his knees and beg.

Literally.

There was nothing he was above at this juncture.

It didn't matter, as long as she stayed.

He was at the office an hour before anyone else, and he paced in the break room, the same place he'd broken up Lisbon's little moment with Pike earlier. He'd made sure he mentioned the Thai place - Pike wasn't the only one who knew her well, wasn't the only one who paid attention to her favorites.

It gave him an idea.

He dug out her favorite coffee, carefully measured, then started it brewing. The first person who made coffee got to pick the brand, and now she would have what she wanted.

By the time he saw her arrive, he was feeling almost back to normal. She looked distracted, but she did smile a little when she saw the mug of coffee on her desk.

"Morning," he said, coming up to her with his own teacup.

"Hey," she said, giving him her usual grin. "Thanks for this," she added, lifting her drink up to him in a small toast. "I'm assuming it was you, anyway," she went on.

"It was," he confirmed.

She kept smiling at him, and he could physically feel their connection.

"Uh, any leads on the trafficking case?" she eventually asked, casting her eyes back at her desk.

"Not that I know of, but it's still early," he replied. _Stop stalling_, he told himself. "Lisbon," he started, waiting to get her attention again.

Her expression was a little wary when she turned, and he knew she'd caught the change in his tone of voice.

"About DC." He took a deep breath. "I hope you stay."

Her smile took his breath away. "You do?"

There were so many things he could say, things that were teasing, things that were cryptic, his usual avenues. Instead, he tried to let his heart show through his eyes and simply said, "Yes. I do."

He recognized the look on her face, though, shamefully, he hadn't seen it nearly often enough. It was joy.

And suddenly, he understood.

She wanted to be stopped.

No, she wanted to be stopped by _him_.

All of her challenging words, telling him about the offer to move...they were supposed to make him do something.

He had almost failed her again.

"Can I come over tonight?" he asked, not thinking about the words. "Just so we can talk?"

She nodded, and he swore her eyes were wet. When he looked closer, he could see her heart beating in the base of her throat.

"Alright," he said quietly. As he passed by her, he squeezed her shoulder lightly. It would have been platonic, except for the way he brushed his thumb across the edge of her neck.

She noticed, and her cheeks got pink.

For a moment, he allowed himself to fiercely hope.

She was still his. Would always be his, even if she put half a country between them. Which he sincerely hoped she didn't do.

It would be okay.

_They_ would be okay.

He kept thinking that right up until he was unexpectedly arrested.

And then his plans changed.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: For those of you who asked - yes, in the promo for 6x20, you can clearly see Jane is being led out of the FBI bullpen in handcuffs.

**Depth and Determinations**

**Chapter Two**

To say that he had been shocked to be indicted for murder would have been an understatement. Just when he'd started to think that he'd left Thomas McAllister in the past, there he was again, coloring the world in bloody shades of red.

The look on Lisbon's face when he was arrested...that was something he wasn't going to forget soon. Fear, outrage, determination to get him out of this.

He'd winked at her as he was led out, trying to calm her down. He was fairly positive it didn't work.

The day then got very long and very stressful.

Despite Jane informing the agents multiple times that part of the deal with the FBI was that all charges got dropped, no one seemed to believe him. He wondered what the hell had happened for this to all come back.

He heard the words 'grand jury' and he knew where this was heading.

They would decided his fate. Did he go to trial? Or did he get to walk? Again? For the same charge?

How many chances did he get?

Charming he could be, but he didn't know where it would get him here. After all, there was no arguing that he had done the deed. He hadn't even attempted to conceal the fact.

He thought of Lisbon often, wanted her close. Imagined her soft skin beneath his cheek. He wanted to be held again, wanted to know that there was someone who gave a damn about what happened to him.

All the talk of McAllister brought back memories he had long tried to forget. The smell of the bedroom in Malibu, all copper and dread, the feeling of the cold metal gun in his hands that last sunny day, where he'd thought about ending it once and for all.

Dark thoughts, partly bleached by the years of sunshine in Venezuela, but now back in their full dismal glory.

It was a full twelve hours later when he was released, and he suspected they only let him go because Abbott pulled strings. He took a moment to be profoundly thankful for his new supervisor.

His shoulders were hunched, and he felt like an old man. He was now staring down a prison sentence. It would take away what was left of his life.

He was tired, so tired of dealing with it all.

And his night didn't get to end just yet.

He had brought very few things with him from Venezuela, but what he had mattered a great deal. Carefully, he put the letters, the ones that he had never sent, into a box and wondered why he was compelled to do this.

But he knew why.

Just in case.

He didn't bother to call before heading to Lisbon's. Too late, he realized Pike might be there, and the though made the bile rise in his throat. He wondered if he should pray, just once, just for this one thing, then decided against it. He hadn't said a prayer in twelve years, not since he'd stood in a hallway with his hand trembling against a doorknob.

They hadn't been answered then, and he wasn't interested in trying now.

He held his breath as he pulled up.

There were no cars in the driveway, but her living room light was on and he could see her shadow.

He felt strange as he walked up her steps, like it wasn't really him doing it.

It took her a second to open the door after he knocked. When she did, she gave him a worried smile.

"Hey," she said, eyebrows furrowed.

"Hi," he replied. "Is it okay if I'm here?"

Meaning was Pike going to come out of her bedroom or something equally horrible.

"Yes," she almost whispered. "Do you want to come in? You look awful," she added, as he followed her inside.

"Thanks," he said with a bare hint of amusement. "I can always count on you to make me feel good about myself."

"Like you need help with that," she replied. Then, "What's with the box?"

He smiled just a little. "I'll get to that later."

They sat on the couch, turned towards each other, knees almost touching. "Jane," she said. "What the hell is going on?"

Carefully, concisely he told her, watching her expression go from worried to downright horrified. At one point, he reached for her hands and she let him.

"So..." she searched for words, "So what's going to happen now?"

He shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "I don't know. Mostly, it's out of my hands."

There were several seconds of silence. Her thumb nervously slid against his, and he realized this was the closest they'd been in months.

He wanted to tell her it would all be okay, but he just didn't know.

And anyway, he had more important things to say.

"Teresa," he nearly whispered, "I need you to listen to me." He swallowed hard, and her eyes widened. "If the worst happens, if I get tried for murder..." Her fingers tightened compulsively, and he took a breath. "Then I want you to go to DC. Go with Pike."

She sniffed. "What?"

"You heard me," he said. "Go with him if I get sent to jail. But," he added, holding her gaze. "If I don't..." This was harder to say than he'd imagined. "Then stay."

"Jane..." Her eyes were glossy, filling up with unshed tears.

"Stay," he repeated. "Stay here, where you belong. With me."

She let go of one of his hands to swipe at her cheeks, and he smiled wryly. He brushed away a tear she'd missed, then rested his palm against her face. She leaned into his touch, not even trying to be subtle, her finger curling around his wrist.

"You have awful timing," she choked out.

"I know," he said, lips quirking again. Then he screwed up his courage. "Teresa, there are so many things I want to tell you. So many things I should have told you years ago. And now isn't the time, either."

She blinked, frowning.

"No," he went on. "Not with something like a jail term hanging over my head. When I tell you what's in my heart, I want to do it with the understanding that I'm going to be free to act on my feelings. I won't do it otherwise. It's too cruel to you."

He could tell she was going to protest, to tell him she didn't care about the circumstances. Hell, that was probably even true. But he didn't want to burden her with the words she so wanted to hear when there was the possibility that the only way he would see her again was during visiting hours at a federal prison somewhere.

Regretfully, he slid his hand away from her pale cheek and her expression mirrored his reluctance.

With a sigh, breaking the spell he'd unintentionally been weaving around them, he reached for the box he'd brought with him, putting it in her lap.

Her fingers traced the top of it, unthinking.

"These are the rest of your letters," he told her with a self-deprecating smile. "The ones that I wrote and never sent."

"Why not?" she wanted to know.

He shrugged, trying to convey nonchalance he didn't feel. "I wrote them when I was...sad. Or lonelier than normal. Or I'd had too much to drink. All I wanted to do was talk to you, and this was the only outlet I had at my disposal. I couldn't bring myself to throw them away."

Her eyes welled up again. "Why are you giving them to me now?"

"Just in case," he explained. "In case I don't ever get the chance to tell you what's in them myself."

She nodded, sniffed, angrily swiped away tears. "I'm gonna need a bigger box," she said, trying for humor.

"Hm?"

She stood, then crossed the small room, going to a shelf and pulling a dark wooden box off of it. When she sat next to him again, she was closer than before.

He flipped open the lid. Smiled.

She'd kept them all, every last one of them. It wasn't surprising, and he'd hoped she would, but to see the evidence of her devotion, of what his words had meant to her...it was humbling. The letters looked well-worn, like she had read them over and over, and he realized she probably had.

He took her hand. Kissed her fingertips with something approaching reverence. She was trembling, just a little, and he sat both boxes on the coffee table, pulled her into his arms.

She came willingly, without hesitation, and he buried his face in her neck.

Here it was, what he had been looking for.

Just the night before, he would have given almost anything for her open arms. And now he had them.

Originally, he had sought to comfort her, but there was no doubt their roles had been reversed now. Her fingers slid into his hair, nails lightly raking his scalp, and he almost shuddered with emotion.

Her skin smelled like vanilla and honey and home. His arms tightened around her.

Why, _why_ had he waited so long, waited until it was maybe too late? Why was he so goddamn stupid?

He bit back an unexpected sob.

She ran her hands down his back, under his jacket, giving him the kind of comfort he hadn't had in years. His eyes opened, lashes brushing against her neck as he blinked.

He wanted to stay like this all night, to fall asleep wrapped in her warmth and softness, to feel her heartbeat under his cheek.

But he didn't have that right.

Not yet.

And possibly not ever.

Slowly, carefully, he untangled himself from her, then stood with a sigh.

"I should go," he almost whispered.

Her gaze told him she didn't want that, but understood the reasons why it was for the best. She absently bit down on her lower lip, and his eyes followed the motion.

God, she was so beautiful, with her tumbling hair, pink cheeks, green eyes still glossy from tears. And though it was wrong, knew it would hurt them both if things didn't work out, he leaned down, one hand sliding to her neck, pulling her forward until she was just a a breath away.

Her eyes were still open, waiting, wanting, and the last of his hesitation faded.

He kissed her softly, tenderly, trying to put everything he felt in this moment into it without scaring her off. Her fingers pressed against his jaw, one of her arms around his neck. He knew without looking that she was on her toes, stretching up to meet him.

His arms went around her waist, holding her steady.

For just a second, he touched his tongue to her bottom lip, but when she opened her mouth with a deep exhalation, he pulled back, instead pushing his nose into her hair.

Too much. It was too much for tonight, for this moment.

Lisbon leaned heavily against him. "What was that for?" she asked quietly, voice muffle by his shoulder.

"Just in case," he murmured. In case he never had the opportunity again. "And," he went on, tilting her chin up so they faced each other. "Something for you to think about. You have options, you know," he added with a bit of a grin.

She shook her head affectionately. "No, I don't, you idiot."

He frowned. "Teresa," he said, seriously. "Listen to me. I meant what I said: you have options. If I'm lucky enough to have the opportunity, I'm going to fight for you. But you need to do what's best for you, what makes you the happiest. I hope that's me, but if it's not, then please know I love you enough to walk away." He hadn't meant to say the words, not really, but now that they were out there, he felt better. Lighter.

And then she surprised him again by smiling. "One thing at a time, Jane. Let's worry about your indictment first. And then I'll let you fight for me as much as you want."

He let out an almost startled laugh. He wanted to kiss her again, but felt he'd pushed his rather limited good fortune too far already.

"Let me know as soon as anything happens tomorrow," she said, serious again. "I'll try to be there if I can, but..."

"I know," he said softly. "Duty calls."

There was a moment of loaded silence. Then, "Goodnight, Teresa. Get some sleep."

"Goodnight, Patrick," she echoed, and the use of his first name made him smile widely.

And then, since he couldn't resist, he took her face in his hands and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.

After he left, he looked back once. Lisbon was on the couch again, and he knew she had his box of unsent letters in her lap. He should have told her not to read them until they knew what would happen with his indictment, but selfishly, he hadn't. He knew what she found find in them.

_Dear Teresa_ (she was always Teresa when he was drinking),

_I miss you. More than I thought I could miss someone who was still living. If I sent you a plane ticket, would you come? Would you stay?_

_All I can think about when I'm laying here each night is what it would feel like if you were next to me. I bet you'd hog the covers, but I promise I wouldn't mind._

_I think I'm slowly going crazy without you. I wonder what you would do if I showed up at your door._

_I adore you. More than I could ever tell you. More than I could ever show you. I never expected to fall in love again, so imagine my surprise when I figured it out._

_Come here. Stay. With me._

We can spend our days drinking pina coladas and making love on the beach. You can be the island police. We can get a dog. Whatever you want. Just come.

He tended to ramble sometimes, his thoughts scattered. She would make sense of his words, though, he knew that.

It was strange, giving her those letters. There was a reason he'd never sent them - he'd bared too much of his soul in them, more than he had shared with any person save one.

And now she would know. Would know everything.

The empty beer bottles were still on the kitchen counter from where he had left them the night before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He realized he'd been awake for almost twenty hours.

Still, he showered again, dressed in pajama pants and puttered around the trailer. His mind was too awake. Too much had happened.

The knock on his door came perhaps an hour later.

He didn't have to wonder who it was, but was surprised nonetheless.

Was even more surprised when he saw her face, red and blotchy, streaked with tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked, closing the door behind her.

Lisbon didn't answer, just threw her arms around him. He felt her tears on his neck.

"Shh," he whispered, hands at her waist. "It's alright, whatever it is."

She sniffled loudly, then pushed back to look at him. Her eyes were snapping. "You're a goddamn moron, do you know that?"

Unexpectedly, his lips twitched. "Yes."

Her head found his shoulder. "I love you, too," she whispered.

His eyes closed, and he held her closer. She'd already been through all the letters, then, and found the one he'd put in the very back.

_I love you. I love you so much that it's almost ridiculous. I love the way you smell and the way you laugh and the way you yell at me when I've done something you don't approve of. But mostly I just love you. I've loved you for so many years that I don't really remember a time that I didn't. If you need more clarification, I'm in love with you, too. In the way that I've spent entire days wondering what you taste like and wishing that you would fall asleep in my arms. I love you that way. And I will never stop dreaming about what I wish I could have with you. I love you._

"You're a fast reader," he murmured.

She swallowed. "Jane," she said quietly. "I need you to say it. I want to hear it. And not just in passing." There was something very much like need in her tone.

He shifted them, tilting her head up until their noses almost touched. "I love you," he told her, and she let out a shaky breath.

Well, there went not telling her until he was out of the woods as far as legal trouble went. Then again, if this was going to be one of his last nights in the free world, he wanted it to be with her. Openly.

"Patrick," she said, using his given name for the second time that night. "I want to make a deal with you."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really?"

She nodded. "Yes." She paused, looking like she was working up her courage, and he wondered what she was going to say next. "I'll do what you wanted," she finally said. "If you're tried for murder, I'll go to DC. I promise."

He hated the words, even if he knew it was the best thing for her in the situation.

"And what's the deal?" he asked.

She raised her eyes to his, all dark green and hot, and he felt a thrill of anticipation.

"I'll go," she said again. "But I need you to do something."

His hands fell to her hips. "And what's that?"

"Your end of the bargain," she told him. "I'll go, but tonight..." she trailed off, losing her nerve for a second. Then she found and held his gaze again. "I want you."

His mouth went dry.

She would do what he asked. In exchange for... "Are you asking me what I think you're asking?" he choked out, voice hoarse.

Her cheeks pink, she nodded.

"Say it," he breathed, echoing her earlier words. "I want to hear it."

He could see her heart pounding in the base of her throat.

Her tongue darted out, licked her dry lips. "Make love to me."

It wasn't a question.

He stared, blood racing through his veins. Slowly, he tucked her hair behind her ears, noting absently that his hands were shaking.

There were so many reasons why he shouldn't.

But more why he should.

He leaned down, lips against her ear, and when he spoke, she shivered.

"I accept your deal."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Well, hello again! Two chapters in two days! Sorry, I'm really getting into this story. I don't know how long it'll be (pfft, I say that now, and I'll do something silly like end it after another chapter), but I'm having fun writing it, so let's see where my brain takes me.

Also, if you haven't read Ultra Violet by myself and the incomparable MleeWrite, you should check it out.

Also _also_, if you're interested in getting in on some of the Save the Mentalist stuff that's been happening, head on over to Twitter and look up SaveMentalist's account for plans and ideas.

This first part would probably be considered M.

**Depths and Determinations**

**Chapter Three**

He was going to give in.

He was going to actually make love to her.

Her knees buckled.

Jane held her up, chuckling. "Did you actually expect me to say no?" he wondered.

Truth be told, she just didn't know. He did things sometimes that she absolutely couldn't account for. This had the potential to be one of them, but then he had properly surprised her. Oh, God. She was going to go to bed with Patrick Jane.

Not thinking, she stretched up to kiss him for the second time that night, wanting the taste of his lips once more. She couldn't believe she had been brave enough to ask for this. But when she had read his letters, the words that had been in his heart, knew that he had thought about this as much as she had...she was utterly unwilling to continue not knowing what it was like to be with him.

He loved her.

He had said it and not taken it back.

It was like a dream, something created from the deepest part of her secret fantasies.

He coaxed her mouth open, angling his head to kiss her deeply, tongue sliding against hers. He was too good at this, too good at making everything sensual.

She grasped at his hair again, not wanting to squander the opportunity to get her hands on his curls, something she'd thought about forever.

His palms were heavy on her hips, holding her to him. Already, she could tell he was hard. And it was because of her. The knowledge was heady, powerful.

Her hands fell from his hair to his bare chest. She'd never seen Jane without his shirt on before, and now she was pressed against him, and in a very short period of time...

She shivered.

He kissed her neck, her collarbone, pushing at the sleeves of her jacket until it hit the floor. Her shirt was next, and then he touched skin that he had never seen before.

His hand closed gently over the swell of one breast, and she arched instinctively into his touch.

And then he scooped her up unexpectedly, carried her the short distance to the bed. She anticipated being lightly set down; instead, he tossed her and she shrieked.

His laughter followed, then so did he, propping himself up on one elbow to peer down at her. He touched his nose to hers. "I love you," he said, and her heart contracted again, just like it had every other time he'd said the words.

"Love you, too," she said, her smile matching his.

Then his lips were on her skin again, and there was no more laughter. Just a deep, aching need to get as close to him as she possibly could.

She ran her hands down his bare back, fascinated by his reaction to her touch. This was something she usually avoided, never knowing if Jane would welcome the closeness, the intimacy.

But he certainly welcomed it now.

Somehow, he'd managed to tug her jeans off, a mentalist trick if she'd ever seen one. He was alarmingly talented in bed already and they hadn't even gotten anywhere.

She kissed him again, relishing the feeling of skin on skin.

God, this was what she had needed. Not more fancy words, or those hopelessly heartbreaking letters. She had just needed him, _all_ of him. Needed to know that this was real, that he wanted her in the same way she wanted him.

His fingers skimmed down her stomach, and her breath hitched. He hesitated for just a second, pulling back enough to see her face. She had no idea what he was looking for, but he must've found it.

He stroked her softly, and her mind blanked, nails digging into his arms. The only things she was aware of were his hands and the weight of his body on hers.

Abruptly, he was gone, and her eyes flew open, reaching for his shoulders. And then she felt his curls between her thighs and fell back against the pillows with a groan.

She quit thinking, quit feeling anything except for the intense pleasure he gave her, all except for the small voice in the back of her mind that kept reminding her that this was _Jane_ doing all of these things to her.

His fingers found her again, thrusting gently, stretching her.

She shattered.

When she came back down, Jane was poised over her. She could feel him trembling. He lowered his forehead to hers, every line of his body taut.

"I need you," he admitted, and the raw emotion in his voice made her shudder.

Gently, she wrapped her hand around him, guiding, and he pushed forward. The world abruptly dissolved and reformed around the point where they were joined.

"Christ," he breathed, voice hoarse.

She arched her hips, urging him on, needing this, needing more. It was intense and fierce and tender all at once.

She changed the angle, legs around his waist, and looking back, she realized it was the exact moment he lost his self-control.

He said her name, movements unmeasured and uneven. She gloried in it, this loss of his mask, of the artifice he normally hid behind. He groaned and then went still.

His arms went around her, grip too tight, his face in her neck, shaking.

She held him back as tight as she could, fingers sliding a little in the sweat on his back. She pressed her lips against the damp hair plastered to his temple.

God, she couldn't count the time she'd dreamed about this moment. The reality so far exceeded her expectations that it was laughable.

Eventually, Jane raised himself up, touched her cheek. Grinned.

It was contagious. "Someone's awfully pleased with themselves," she teased as he shifted positions, pulling her into his chest.

He chuckled. "You betcha."

She hummed in approval, still listening to his thundering heart. Jane tucked the sheet around her, and she was touched by the gesture.

Cuddled against him, she dozed for an hour or so, utterly unwilling to put an end to this night. When he kissed her again, she pushed him back down to the mattress, then straddled his waist.

His eyes were dark, bright, aroused.

"Well?" he challenged. "Is this where I find out what the FBI's finest agent is made of?"

She moved her hips, and her response was lost in his breathless moan.

When she was snuggled against him again, she slept, emotionally and physically exhausted, legs still shaking, one of Jane's hands curled around the back of her head.

Of all the ways to end this day, she had never dreamed of _this_ particular possibility.

Had it really been just the night before when she'd told Jane that Pike had asked her to go with him? And now, thirty hours later, she'd made love with him twice and finally gotten an admission of his feelings?

But now...now they had to deal with this god-awful indictment and what it meant for their future. She knew why he hadn't wanted to tell her what was in his heart. He wanted her to be happy, he hadn't lied about that. And if she knew he loved her, knew how much he cared, she would wait for him.

She had promised not to, if the worst happened. Had promised to leave, to go to DC.

In all honesty, she had no idea if she would keep her promise. If she _could_ keep her promise, or if she even wanted to.

Jane dropped a kiss on the crown of her head and she stopped thinking about it. The choice was out of her hands, at least until a legal decision was made.

When she woke, it was almost dawn. She stretched languidly, then looked up at the man beside her. His eyes were open, alert, and she knew he hadn't slept a bit.

"Morning," he said, rolling slightly towards her.

"Good morning," she replied, stretching towards him for a kiss. "I'd ask if you slept well, but I know the answer."

His smile was a little strained, but still warm. "I had more important things to do."

"Oh?" she teased. "Like what?"

He pushed her hair back behind her ears. "Like remember what this feels like. Much more important than shut-eye."

Her eyes pricked, and he brushed away a stray tear with his thumb.

"No crying," he ordered, trying to sound strict. "We're having a happy morning."

Her laugh sounded a little choked, but she tried. "Are we?"

"Yes," he informed her. "I realized an hour ago or so that I don't have coffee here, so we're going to have to get creative in our wake-me-up methods." His smile was full of sensuality and promise.

She propped herself up on her elbow. "How creative are we talking?" she wanted to know, teasing, but just a little breathless.

As it turned out, very.

But it worked. And she thought she might have even liked it more than coffee.

Then came the bad part, the part where she had to gather up her things, dress, and sneak out the door, not knowing if she would ever be able to come back here again.

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, securing it with a rubber band Jane had found in a kitchen drawer. God, she didn't want to do this.

He stopped her at the door, kissed her thoroughly, and for a moment, she thought she tasted tears.

"I love you," he said again.

"Love you, too," she whispered back, desperately praying that this wasn't the last time she would be able to say those words.

And then she left, the morning air too cool on her overheated skin.

The sun rose on her way home, promising a beautiful day. She cursed at the deception.

In her driveway, she dug through her coat pockets for the house keys, fumbling a bit. They jingled merrily in her hand as she turned them in the lock, but then something caught her eye.

Jane's wedding ring was attached to her keychain.

She made it into the house before she collapsed, sliding down just on the other side of the door. Not bothering to stop her tears, she sat, remembering once to pray.

For perhaps five minutes, she allowed herself to have an utter breakdown.

Then she picked herself up off the floor and showered, the water too hot. Methodically, she got ready, knowing she needed to be strong, today of all days.

She made coffee, not because she needed it, but because it was safe and familiar and made her feel like the world could still be an okay place.

Abbott was waiting for her in the bullpen. She did not take it as a good sign.

"Agent Lisbon," he said, as serious as she had ever heard him. "Jane's hearing is in an hour at the federal courthouse. I'm assuming you'd like to be there."

"Yes, sir," she said evenly. "For moral support, if nothing else." She thought her words sounded normal.

"I figured," he said. Then, "I'll drive."

To her surprise, Fischer, Cho, and Wylie were waiting in the FBI-issue Suburban.

No one spoke, but she was supremely grateful for their support and loyalty. As they climbed the courthouse steps, Cho touched her arm.

"You okay?" he asked. Direct. Straight-forward. Too observant.

"Nope," she replied lightly.

"Hang in there," he told her. "This is Jane. No one is going to make him do anything or go anywhere that he doesn't want. You of all people should know that."

"Thanks," she whispered.

"No problem," he said as they started walking. "And call Pike. He was looking for you earlier."

She expected to feel guilt, but she didn't, not really. There were more important things to worry about.

The courtroom was crowded, and she squeezed into the back row next to Cho.

When she saw Jane enter, her blood sang out in her veins. He looked calm, composed, and it was difficult to remember that she had seen this man utterly undone just a few hours ago.

His eyes scanned the courtroom once, and he winked at her when their gazes met.

And then there was nothing for the next several hours. She sat as still as a statue, hanging on every word.

Mentally, she was trying to keep score, but she was too afraid that she was reading the signs all wrong.

Jane never looked at her again.

She was thankful for that.

After testimony had ended, the audience was dismissed while deliberations began. She paced outside, Cho keeping a weather eye on her.

Of everyone here from the FBI, he was the only one who had any idea of what Jane really meant to her, of what they had gone through together. And he was worried for her.

In a short time later, they were called back.

Her mind screamed at her that they hadn't been out long enough, that they had come to a decision too quickly and nothing good would come of it.

When Jane was asked to rise, Cho unexpectedly took her hand, and she was grateful for his warm, steady presence. Absently, she thought that if she actually collapsed, he'd catch her, and that was something.

The judge looked stoic, implacable.

Her nails dug into Cho's hand, but he simply tightened his grip.

"Mr. Jane," the judge began, expression giving away nothing.

She thought she might scream.

"It is the opinion of the jury assembled here that you not be tried for the murder of Thomas McAllister."

She quit listening then, a ringing in her ears. She didn't even know if she smiled, didn't even know if she breathed.

But it was okay. He was okay. He was going to stay. He wasn't going to leave her again.

Cho kept her hand.

Stupidly, belatedly, she realized Fischer had her other hand.

The room was dismissed, her head still spinning. Jane would have to stay for a while, she knew that, but she just couldn't.

Instead, she told Abbott she was going to take a cab home. He didn't protest, just nodded and squeezed her shoulder, and she felt a rush of affection for her new boss. Maybe she could have a family here too, just like she used to in California.

And maybe she just needed a drink.

Ten minutes after she got home, she was violently ill, the frenetic emotions of the past thirty six hours or so finally catching up with her. The tile of the bathroom floor was cold and perfect beneath her clammy cheek.

At some point, she realized she was crying, had probably been crying for some time.

With some difficulty, she stopped, pulled out her phone.

He answered on the second ring, and she steeled herself.

"I can't go," she told him. "This...us...it's not enough to move across the country. To uproot myself again. I'm so sorry." And she was. About that she was sincerely. It would have been much easier if she could have found a way to just love Marcus unconditionally.

"You moved for Jane," he said, but there was no anger in his tone. Just acceptance, like he'd figured this was coming.

"I did," she replied, and that was it.

Two full hours later, there was a knock on her door, and she wondered why he didn't just come in.

He looked...as exhausted as she'd ever seen him.

But he smiled at her, and she walked into his arms.

For several minutes...an hour...she had no idea, she simply stayed there, her head on his shoulder, his hands spanned across her back.

"Lisbon," he whispered eventually, "tell me you're staying."

"I'm staying," she replied immediately.

He exhaled against her hair. "In that case," he began, and she finally looked up at him. He grinned tiredly. "Well, I'd planned on making love to you until we both pass out, but by the looks of things, that'll be in about ten seconds."

She smiled. He had a point.

"So what do you say we just go to sleep? I realize I haven't actually asked to stay, but I'm hoping you'll take pity on me." There was something in his eyes, just for a moment. He really wanted to spend the night, but he was...unsure...of what her answer would be? Could that even be true?

She touched his cheek, and he kissed her palm.

"If you snore, I'll shoot you," she promised, then took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

She gathered up the first things that passed for pajamas and threw them on, but even as quick as she'd been, he was already asleep when she climbed into bed, looking like he'd fought a war. Which, she supposed, wasn't far off from the truth.

Tenderly, she brushed his hair off his forehead, kissed his temple.

Then she curled into his side, gratified when his arms instinctively came around her.

And she slept. The sleep of the just, the sleep of the happy, of someone who has finally gotten what they wanted.

She didn't wake up for the next twelve hours.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **This is mostly fluff, I'm afraid. Hope you enjoy!

**Depths and Determinations**

**Chapter Four**

He woke once, in the middle of the night, disoriented for a moment until he remembered what had happened. Lisbon was tucked into his side, arm around his waist, her head on his chest.

She was staying.

With him.

And he was not, at least for the moment, going to jail.

It took him a full five minutes to stop smiling.

Though it was now the second night they'd spent together, it felt like the first. Or rather, like how the first should have gone. There was a sense of intimacy and peace here, of two lovers finding each other after far too long apart. He was safe, free to give into the feeling of sanctuary and rest.

The night before had been different.

She had still been with someone else, someone who was trying to take her away. He had no guarantee that he would end the day as a free man. Exhausted as he had been, he'd stayed awake, not knowing if he would ever have the chance to hold her while she slept again.

Not that her dreams had been peaceful. She'd been fitful, tossing and turning often, though never leaving the circle of his arms. He wasn't the only one who was trying to commit things to memory.

And now…now he could close his eyes, could run a hand through her hair, kiss her forehead as she peacefully snuggled deeper into his embrace, slumber decidedly untroubled.

He smiled again.

When he was woke the next time, it was just dawn, a faint sliver of pink light slanting in through the curtains at her window, turning everything shades of rosy gold.

Her room was quiet, clean, a haven from the nightmare he'd been dealing with.

He wondered if it was too early to ask if he could move in.

Probably, he decided, though he figured he could manage to at least stay here every night. She'd wanted this for about as long as he had, and hopefully she'd decided they'd wasted too much precious time to worry about things like appropriate relationship timelines.

Eventually, he carefully untangled himself from her warm body, muscles protesting, and padded to the kitchen.

His back hurt. Hell, most of him hurt, if he was being honest, and he wondered if his lifestyle was finally catching up to him. No, he didn't drink much, didn't smoke, do drugs, or party all night surrounded by women who were usually wearing tassels and glitter.

But he did sleep on couches, or in cheap hotels, anywhere he didn't really have to feel alone, sometimes went days without sleeping, and dealt with enough emotional trauma and upheaval on a daily basis that would sent a great number of men into therapy.

Normally, he didn't let it bother him. But perhaps this night with Lisbon, all soft and safe and loving, had made him realize how rough and unforgiving his existence had been.

Frowning, he flipped on the light in the kitchen.

It wasn't particular big, but still about four times the size of the one she'd had in Sacramento. Of course, he'd seen broom closets that had more counter –space than that place.

He began snooping through cupboards in search of tea, pausing once to start a pot of coffee. There was actual food on the shelves, and he hoped Lisbon had learned to take a little better care of herself.

Then abruptly, he was sad. She'd _had_ to learn it, because he hadn't been around to do it for her.

He wondered who had brought her ice cream when a case made her sad, who refused to let her eat more than two meals a week that came from vending machines, who quietly replaced the coffee in her cup with decaf when she'd come close to the limit a human could consume without going into shock.

The answer was obvious.

No one.

No one had done these things for her.

Time to change all of that.

He was still full of his resolution when he found the tea. His favorite brand, naturally, at the very back of her small pantry. Obviously, she'd bought it in the hopes of serving it to him. Or possibly letting him make it himself so he didn't complain about the way she did it. Either way, it had been meant for him to drink in this house.

There was a fine layer of dust on the top of the box.

Another thing he hadn't been around for.

He brewed a quick cup, drank it while poking through the rest of her shelves in the kitchen. As he walked by, he peeked into the living room. The two boxes of letters were still on the coffee table.

It was hard to believe it had barely been thirty six hours since he'd showed up at her door, attempting to explain what she meant without actually telling her.

It had been a stupid plan, but looking back, he supposed it had worked out well enough in the end.

Very well indeed, he decided, sliding back into the soft bed beside Lisbon, nuzzling her neck until she stirred sleepily.

"Good morning," he murmured, lips at her ear.

She muttered something incoherently at him, eyelids still firmly shut. Her hands found his under the blankets.

"I made coffee," he said, still quiet. "I'll bring you some if you want."

Without opening her eyes, she arched a brow. "What I _want_, Jane, is for you to lay back down and stop talking."

He chuckled. Apparently becoming lovers hadn't improved her temperament in the morning. It was endearing.

And, since he now had the right to, he did what she asked, tucking the comforter around them both, shifting to accommodate her when she wanted to drape herself over him.

She was going to have the imprint of shirt buttons on her cheek, and he had a sudden idea.

It would wait though. Everything was going to wait while he simply lived in this moment, the woman he loved - the woman he had been waiting to have for a decade- wrapped up in his arms.

The alarm clock said it was nearly ten before they both made it up. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spent so long in a bed.

When she was in the bathroom, he made her fresh coffee. Time to start taking care of her again.

By the time she'd joined him, he'd dug hash browns out of the freezer and was already flipping his first pancake over.

Lisbon looked at him a little funny when he sat the plate in front of her and handed her the bottle of syrup.

"What?" he wanted to know. "Don't tell me you've suddenly decided you don't like pancakes. And these are special, too. These are 'Happy We're Finally Figuring It Out' pancakes."

She smiled, took a bite. "Jane?"

"Hm?"

"Best pancakes I've ever had."

He kissed her, tasting maple syrup and butter…and now he thought he was probably going to get at least a little aroused every time someone ate pancakes in his vicinity. Ah, well.

When breakfast was over, they stood side by side at the sink, hips occasionally bumping as dishes were rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher. It should have been awkward, all this domesticity so soon, but it was strangely perfect.

He kissed her again as the machine started to hum, gently, then let her snuggle into his shoulder. Lisbon was normally not an openly affectionate person. In fact, she was rather the opposite, her hugs coming few and far between and she was never the one to initiate them. But now she was as much a part of this as he was.

He figured for the first few weeks, months, maybe, she would be like this. Something about wanting to touch him for so long and never being able to.

Well, he would make sure she'd have every opportunity.

But first…

He pulled back, hands on her hips, and she looked at him with questioning eyes.

"I need to go for a couple hours," he told her, and her face fell. He stroked her cheek. "I'll be quick, I promise, but there are a few things I need to do."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Like what?"

He smiled at her grumpy expression. "Shower, for one, and before you tell me I can do that here, I need clothes and I'm pretty sure I can't fit into yours." He winked. "I have some errands that I've put off for a long time to take care of after that, and then I'll be back here."

She looked suspicious. "What kinds of errands?"

"The kind that'll probably make you happy," he told her, then kissed her once more. He could probably spend all day doing that, and one of these days, he would.

"You'll be fast?" she verified. "No getting side-tracked?"

"I'll be fast," he promised. "By the time you feel like an afternoon nap, I'll be available to sleep beside." The sentence made him happy, and judging by her soft smile, she felt the same.

He showered in record time, then, for the first time in years, went to the mall.

He didn't spend much money normally, hadn't bothered to buy anything new in…well, since Before. Things needed to change. He didn't belong to that past anymore. The tan line on his finger where his ring used to be was a sharp reminder of that.

So he sprung for a handful of new suits, not the obscenely expensive kind he'd worn when he had conned folks for a living, but still not something that could be bought a JC Penney's. Socks, new shirts, some even without an island feel, and then attempted to begin what he thought of as a Casual Wardrobe.

It was a new and different beast.

Jeans. Shirts. Pajama pants. Sneakers. Well, something close-ish to them. He decided he wasn't ready for full-on athletic wear.

On the way back to her place, he stopped for a pint of soft-serve ice cream.

She was waiting for him when he arrived, and trying very hard to not look like she was doing just that.

"Mm," she whispered, arms already around his neck, lips pressing against his jaw. "Does it make me sound needy if I admit I missed you?"

"Not at all," he assured, her noting her still-damp hair and freshly scrubbed complexion. Maybe next time they could…save water and shower together.

Several times throughout the past two days he'd forgotten and then abruptly remembered that they'd slept together. Three times.

It was something he'd held onto as he waited for the jury to decide his fate, and hers. A bright, untarnished memory that belonged to them and them alone. He was profoundly grateful that it would now never be tempered by the events that came after it. No extradition, no murder charge, no moving to DC.

His hands tightened compulsively on her hips.

There were still shadows under her eyes, and he traced them with his thumb. "So about that afternoon nap…"

"Tell me where you went first," she insisted, now looking annoyed with him again. He supposed some things never changed.

"Shopping," he answered. "Wait here. I'll show you."

He'd had another idea.

Lisbon looked properly shocked when she saw him haul bag after bag into the living room. Both boxes of letters were on her bookshelf now, arranged like decorations. His lips curved upwards.

"Did you buy everything in the store?" she demanded, going through his purchases.

He shrugged. "I was working with a pretty blank slate, my dear. Not a lot of options. Better to just buy all new."

Her face was dubious again. "I'm not sure I'll know what to do with you in casual clothes," she admitted, and he chuckled.

"If you need help," he told her, a seductive note in his voice, "I'm sure I can come up with a few suggestions."

He let her examine everything. Then, "Can I use your washer? Just so I don't have to haul all of this stuff to the Laundromat?"

"Uh, sure." She blinked. "It's right off the door to the garage."

He knew that, of course, but nodded anyway. This was going to be an excellent way of getting the vast majority of his clothing here in a completely innocent manner. It took him a second, but he figured out the machine, pulling off price tags as he went.

"Done," he said triumphantly, trying to find her again. "And now…bed." The living room was empty. "Lisbon?" he called.

"In here," she answered, voice coming from the bedroom.

He tossed his jacket on the back of a kitchen chair as he walked through the house. And then he stared.

"You said something about bed?" she asked sweetly, an unexpected vision in black lace, leaning casually against the door frame.

Originally, he'd planned on simply sleeping, but his brain decided it was a good move to throw all plans out the window and just make love to her until his eyes crossed.

Later, still breathing heavily, he ran his fingers over the red marks the elastic of her lingerie had left on her pale skin. He felt a touch of guilt, as the manner in which the garments were removed probably had something to do with why the marks were there in the first place.

"I liked that outfit," she informed him once, face half-hidden in his neck, trying to sound indignant.

He closed his eyes. "I'll buy you a new one. Two new ones. As many new ones as you want," he promised.

She laughed a little, and he knew she was going to doze off soon. "Stay tonight," she whispered slowly, nearly asleep.

"I'm planning on it." He kissed the top of her head. "Go to sleep," he told her. "I'll be here when you wake up."

And he was.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN**: Probably another couple of chapters and then we'll say goodbye to this one as well. Hope everyone is still enjoying it - it's nice to just write some fluff after the angst-fest that's happening on screen currently.

And as far as renewal goes...remember, it's not over until it's over. Chins up, folks.

**Depths and Determinations**

**Chapter Five**

She decided she never wanted to get used to waking up with Jane curled around her. Well, perhaps that wasn't the right word. She _wanted_ to get used to it, wanted it to be a daily thing. What she didn't want was to ever take it for granted.

He looked so relaxed as he slept, but she was willing to bet his dreams weren't always so peaceful.

She ran her fingers lightly through his hair, just because she could, just because he was hers now, and he reacted to her touch, turning even more in her direction.

She smiled.

The light outside her window told her that it was evening now, and that they had missed the majority of the afternoon. That was fine with her; they'd spent it in what she had discovered was her new favorite way: making love and then sleeping together.

Jane had literally torn her clothes off. Not that there had been a lot of fabric to start with, but...she flushed, remembering. Out of control with want Jane was something to behold.

And she wanted to see that side of him again.

Though perhaps not right now, she amended, body reminding her that she was sore. It wasn't like she was unused to sex - but sex with Jane was intense and all-consuming. Powerful.

She took one of his hands, gently toying with his fingers, feeling the indentation where his wedding ring had rested for so many years.

He'd given it to her.

There was no mistaking what that meant, what that gesture symbolized.

However, it didn't mean that she had any idea of what to do with the thing. It was in her small jewelry box, next to a pair of her mother's earrings, the only ones she'd had that were real. She decided she wasn't going to say anything about it unless Jane brought it up.

She just wanted to be done with it, with that long chapter of his life that had brough him so much misery.

And, some day, she hoped he would be able to talk about his family. They had shaped his enitre world, and she knew precious little about them.

Jane's eyes opened, sleepy and light. God, he was beautiful. And he belonged to her.

"Hello," he murmured softly. "I love you."

Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but it was a wonderful sort of pain. "I love you, too."

His stomach rumbled, and they both laughed, their little moment falling lightly away.

"Is this the part where I tell you to go make me a sandwich?" he asked, eyebrows raised, tone amused.

"Try it," she challenged. "See what happens."

They ordered pizza, watched a mindless sitcom. It was boring and perfect.

It was amazing how tired she was. Emotional exhaustion would do that to a person, though. Perhaps she'd been tired for years and just hadn't ever had the chance to get over it.

Jane stretched out on the couch, his head in her lap, and she knew she wasn't the only one who was living some of their fantasies out.

She used to wonder if Jane was ever lonely, if he ever craved physical closeness. With her, with anyone. At this point, she thought she knew. Even if they hadn't been together for long, he seemed to always be touching her. Which she liked. A _lot_.

That night, he slept with his head on her chest, and she tried to not fall asleep simply so she could go on enjoying the feeling of his curls tickling her chin and his breath warming her neck.

She had gone so many years deliberately avoiding both Jane's touch and touching _him_, never sure if it would be welcome or if he would tense up and pull away. And it had just become easier to keep away from his hands; they had a tendency to destroy her emotionally.

And now...now she had touched about every inch of him, felt him shiver under her palms. They had gone from no contact to constant closeness, and it made her head spin a little to think about the change.

God, it was perfect though.

Sunday was a quiet day for them, too. She considered going to church but didn't want to leave the peaceful cocoon of her house, of Jane's arms. Wanted to savor every moment of this.

No one mentioned Jane going back to the Airstream, and he changed into the clothes that he dug out of her dryer. He smirked a little while doing so, and she wondered what was going on in his mind.

It rained, clouds darkening the vast Texas sky. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this at ease, sprawled across him, the soft cotton of his new shirt under her cheek, listening to him breathe, feeling his hands on her back.

Somehow, in years prior to this, she had never quite believed that this would actually happen. Yes, she had fantasized about it for endless hours, days, whatever, but there was always something heavy in her heart. Patrick Jane was as closed off as solid, cold rock; no cracks in his armor.

She couldn't remember the last time one of her deepest, most powerful fantasies had come true. Possibly never. Well, perhaps that wasn't quite right. She'd gotten another wish fulfilled months ago, when Jane walked into the small conference room at the FBI Headquarters in Austin and pulled her into his arms.

She'd had days when she thought she'd never see him again, never hear his voice, musical and slightly amused, never be gifted with his smile.

Her arms tightened around him, and he kissed the top of her head.

"Want to take tomorrow off?" he murmured.

"That wouldn't be suspicious," she snorted. "I'd like to not give the office gossip pool any more fuel for a while."

He shrugged. "Whatever you say."

That night, the house finally dark, Jane showed her what, exactly, he was capable of. He took his time, slow to the point of being maddening, undressing her carefully, making love to every inch of skin he exposed with his lips and hands.

She felt worshipped.

This was the first occasion that hadn't had a bit of an edge to it. That first night, in the Airstream, had been tempered with fright, desperation. It had been hot, forceful, underlined with the knowledge that this could be their only opportunity to have this.

Their one time here had been different, too. She'd surprised him with her...outfit, and he'd surprised her with his lack of control.

But tonight...slow, deliberate, smoldering. He was on a mission to make her feel as much pleasure as he was capable of giving, and she figured out quickly that she had no idea what that limit was.

Later, muscles still shaking, she collapsed against him, sweating as though she'd just run for miles. Jane wasn't in much better shape, his chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers trembling where they were pressed against her.

"Jesus, Jane," she whispered.

In the darkness, she knew he was smiling. "Yup." She figured he was pleased to know he still had it, whatever _it_ was.

"I need a shower," she remarked.

He kissed her hair. "Want some company?"

She grinned. "Absolutely."

It was harder than she'd thought, leaving him in bed the next morning as she started getting ready for work. Yes, she could see him through the partially open door, curls standing out, bright gold, in the early light. And yes, she was going to spend the day with him, and (if she had her way) come home with him that night. It was silly - but all she wanted was to snuggled back in bed with him.

By the time she got ready, Jane was in the kitchen, making breakfast. He kissed her soundly, then handed her a plate.

"Eat up," he said. "No food from the vending machine for you today. I'm taking you out for lunch, too."

There was no room for argument in his tone, and she ate her omlette without complaint. When he was in the bedroom, she decided to use one of his tricks, and she quickly attached her spare key to his keyring.

"I'm leaving," she called. "See you soon. Lock up when you go."

Abbott's office was her first stop when she arrived at work. He looked up as she knocked, putting her pen on his desk.

"Agent Lisbon," he said. "Have a good weekend?"

Perhaps she was paranoid, but she thought there was something...suggestive in his tone.

"It was...much needed," she finally settled for saying, hoping she wasn't blushing. "Sir, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be staying in Austin."

Abbott's gaze was level. "I hoped you'd come to that conclusion. We're glad to have you."

She nodded, then settled in at her desk.

Jane walked in ten minutes later, hair somewhat tamed, smiling jauntily.

The peace was shortlived, as they were called for a briefing on a new case before she'd even had time to finish her coffee.

Fortunately, the crime scene was set in Austin. She loved her new job, really and truly loved it, but sometimes the travelling got old.

Abbott sent her ahead with Jane, and again, she wondered. Maybe he figured it was in the best interest of his FBI Team if they managed to be happy with each other. In Texas.

It didn't really matter, she supposed, and she was grateful for the extra time with Jane.

He put his hand on her thigh as she drove, looking absently out the window at the city's skyline. "Do you ever miss California?" he asked suddenly.

She glanced over at him for a second. "Maybe," she said slowly, thinking. "I thought I did a lot when I first moved to Washington. But I think I just missed you," she admitted. She had considered the problem a great deal, and had come to that conclusion before Jane had even returned to the country.

He smiled, and there was a sad edge to it. "I missed you, too," he told her. "Maybe I'll take you to my island some day."

"_Your_ island?" she echoed.

He chuckled. "You'd like it," he said. "We'd definitely stay in a hotel though. I don't think you'd be a fan of my little apartment. Emphasis on little."

There was something sad going on behind his eyes, and she dropped her hand from the wheel to wrap around his.

"I don't mean to be morose," he apologized. "But I was lonely there. Very lonely. I don't think I realized how bad it would be, being away from you."

"I know what you mean," she said softly, and Jane squeezed her fingers.

"Yes," he replied. "I know you do."

They were silent the rest of the way. Jane pressed a kiss to her fingertips once, and she wondered what he was thinking.

For herself, she was busy being grateful that life had brought them together again. Had given them a second chance. And then given them a _third_ chance.

Eventually, she saw the flashing lights and the familiar yellow tape that told them they'd arrived at their destination.

Jane took a deep breath, offered her a smile, then opened his door.

While she got the details from the local officers on the scene, Jane did his thing, and she watched him discreetly from the corner of her eye. He was fascinating to observe, to see where his mind took him. Also, it was always a good plan to make sure he was at least a little supervised.

By the time the rest of the team showed up, Jane informed them he already knew who did it and had hatched a plan to prove it.

"Impressive," Abbott said, eyebrows raised.

"Meh," he told him, waving his hand. "Sometimes things are just open and shut." He was standing a half-step closer to her than he usually did, and Lisbon hoped she was the only one who noticed.

She wasn't.

"Finally, huh?" Fischer whispered in her ear as they walked into headquarters just after noon.

She didn't bother to deny it, just smiled.

"Good," the other agent said. "I'm glad I don't have to see the two of you giving each other sad looks when you think the other one isn't watching anymore."

"Me, too," she admitted softly.

"Is he worth the wait?" Fischer asked, but gently.

Her smile widened. "Absolutely."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** Alright, everyone. Last chapter alert! I need to go prepare myself for the finale. Thanks so much for sticking with me, and I hope you've enjoyed this.

**Depths and Determinations**

**Chapter Six**

The first time they were separated on a case, he remembered what it was like to be an insomniac. He'd grown so used to sleeping beside her, touching her, that going back to an empty hotel room bed was like a slap to the face.

Although he realized he wouldn't be with her every moment of every day, he'd always planned on ending them with her.

Instead, he was three hundred miles away, wondering if it was in any way feasible to drive back, if only for a few hours.

Deciding it probably wouldn't work, he called her, hoping her voice would bring him at least a little peace.

She answered on the second ring. "Hey there," she told him, and he smiled.

"Hey yourself. How's Austin?" He could hear her clattering around the kitchen, pictured precisely how she looked.

"Just fine," she replied,. "How's it going there?"

He shrugged, remembered she couldn't see him. "Not as well as I'd hoped," he admitted. "I'm going to try to wrap this up tomorrow, but it might take another day." He hated to say the words. Hated to think that they might be true, too.

There was obvious disappointment in her voice. "It happens that way sometimes," she said, and he knew she was reminding herself, too. "Just promise me you're not going to do anything stupid to get it solved early."

"I promise," he said easily. Their definitions of stupid varied greatly, so he wasn't precisely lying to her.

"I'm not looking forward to tonight," she said, sounding very matter of fact.

His smile took on a sadder cast. "Me, either."

They chatted for a while longer. He caught her up with the case details, and she gave him an overview of the rest of her day. It had been boring, by her standards, but he still hung on her every word.

Yes, tonight was going to be bad.

When their call ended, he paced around the room. He had spent so many nights doing this exact thing that he should have been used to it. In point of fact, he _had_ been, right up until he had a warm, cinnamon-scented Lisbon to sleep next to.

The hours passed slowly. Once or twice, he wondered if dawn was ever going to arrive.

Around three in the morning, his phone beeped.

_I love you._

He smiled. Very apparently, he wasn't the only one awake.

_Love you too. Get some rest._

He tried to imagine what she looked like, jersey ending just above her knees, snuggled into the bed, hair tumbling around her shoulders. The room was probably dark, the only light coming from her phone.

_This sounds stupid but the bed feels too big._

His heart gave a tug. I_ plan on being there to take up needed space tomorrow night._

In another minute, he had her reply. _You'd better be. Now go to sleep._

Of course, he didn't.

When it was a reasonable hour, he wandered off in search of breakfast. He had a big day - murderer to catch, quick flight to make, woman to come home to.

In the end, his plan went slightly awry, and he found himself in danger of being shot by a very perturbed and very armed drug dealer.

Fortunately, Cho took control of the situation, and two short gunshots later, it was all over.

He leaned forward, hands on his knees, breathing deeply.

"Wow," he whispered. "Wow, that was unexpected."

"You're an idiot," Cho told him after checking to see if he was injured. "Be more careful," he went on. "I don't want to answer to Lisbon if you get killed on my watch."

Although they had made no public announcement about their relationship, most people seemed to know, and Cho was smarter than the average bear.

"She'd let you off the hook," he answered, chest still heaving. "It's me she'd kill again."

Still, four hours later, he was in Austin, the sun just starting to set. The city had never looked more appealing to him, never looked more like home.

In the corner of the parking lot, the Airstream sat, looking dark and forlorn. He was grateful he didn't have to go there.

In contrast, all the outside lights were on at Lisbon's, the yellow siding looking warm and welcoming.

For just a moment before getting out of the car, he paused, taking in the scene. He could see Lisbon through the kitchen window, most of the lights on inside, too. It was bright and cheery and looked so much like home that he forgot to breathe for just a moment.

And then he walked forward, using his key, not bothering to knock.

She was in his arms approximately six seconds later, and he pressed his face against her hair, feeling her body against his, her small hands linked at the back of his neck.

"I missed you," he said, kissing her temple.

"Missed you too," she murmured, voice muffled by his shoulder.

When he pulled back, she smiled at him, and he felt himself truly relax for the first time in days. "Something smells good," he noted.

"I made dinner," she announced, sounding impressed with herself.

"Why, Lisbon," he teased, walking towards the bedroom, his small bag in one hand, "did you get all domestic when I was gone?" The house was spotless - wooden shelves gleamed, the floor was clean enough to eat off of, and he could still see the tracks the vacuum had made on the carpet.

"I was bored," she admitted, tone a little embarrassed.

He was in for another surprise. For the past few weeks, he'd been living out of clothes baskets that he'd stacked on her washer and dryer. They were empty now, and he felt a moment of fear, wondering if she was going to tell him to keep his stuff in his own place.

She looked...nervous, and he felt another thrill of apprehension. "I thought," she started, shrugging. "I thought since you were here so much that I might as well hang your clothes up. I mean, they were getting wrinkled and I sort of wanted my baskets back and so I just put them in the guest closet." All of this was said quickly, in one breath, and he knew she was hoping he was alright with this new arrangement.

It was more than just convenience, he understood that. She was tentatively going forward with their relationship, and wasn't sure he would be on board.

So he kissed her, deeply, was rewarded with her hands in his hair.

"I love it," he said against her lips. "Thank you."

They made love in the shower after dinner, and he gratefully fell into bed beside her. There was something on his mind, but it wasn't until she'd drifted off that he figured out what it was.

No one ever took care of him.

He was a Grade A loner, used to looking out for himself. Lisbon occasionally stepped in, but it was mostly in a professional capacity. Not tonight.

He'd come here, come _home_. And he'd been met with a spotless house and dinner waiting and clean clothes in an honest-to-God closet.

Unexpectedly, he felt tears prick his eyes, and he blinked them away.

He felt...loved. Cherished.

He had been missing this for so long that he hadn't even realized it until he had it back. Lisbon wouldn't have recognized the significance of doing these things; she just did them because she wanted to.

And that made it even sweeter.

Abruptly, he shifted, putting his head on her chest, arms around her waist.

"Mm," she murmured sleepily, instinctively running her hands down his back. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," he nearly whispered, and he was utterly truthful. "Everything is perfect."

"'Kay," she replied, voice heavy.

He kissed her collarbone. "Everything is perfect," he said again.

And it was.


End file.
